Star Trek - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Imprint ❯ Imprint chapter 6 ( Chapter 6 )

In accordance with my promise of cuddles to anyone who identified The Simpson's reference, I did a random bit of art (be very afraid). View it on deviantART: http://db2020.deviantart.com/gallery/ or LiveJournal: http://db-mmxx.livejournal.com/17811.html

 

 

Imprint

Chapter Six

 

 

When Spock rematerialized, he barely registered the room of bright lights and sleek paneling. The world exploded into chaos. Unrestrained emotions blared around him, battering against his frail defenses.

 

On instinct, he shuffled back from the loud broadcast. Worry and fear were the predominant emotions thrown his way. His own concern for Jim's welfare added to the raucous mix.

 

A tall man with wayward brown hair and a scruffy beard stood nearby with a medical tricorder. The medic's hazel eyes gave Spock a passing glance. He almost expected those eyes to recognize him, but the man's attentions became riveted on the unmoving form at his feet.

 

“Chapel,” the man barked as he marched onto the transporter pad. A petite blonde woman moved with him. “Alert bay three. I want thermal blankets and a Cordrazine solution.” The man's hands roamed Jim's lifeless body. “Fuck that's a weak pulse,” he cursed with a vehemence that had Spock retreating a step further.

 

McCoy stripped away Jim's soaked jacket. Watery blood that trickled onto the transporter pad from beneath the man's leg. When he cut through the captain's shirt, his stomach clenched at the sight of ghostly pale skin. Before the tricorder had logged the injuries, he'd already created a mental list. Tender hands searched for the leg wound and carefully cut away the left pant leg. Anger washed over him at the sight of the inflamed puncture. It must have hurt like a bitch. There was no exit wound, which meant surgery to dig around inside and assess the damage.

 

Prioritizing Jim's hypothermic shock, McCoy held out a hand and closed his fingers around the hypospray that Chapel gave him. He jabbed the spray against Jim's neck. Chapel came around to Jim's other side and discretely cut away the remainder of black regulation pants.

 

“Let's get him up,” McCoy called over his shoulder. Scotty and one of the male nurses helped McCoy lift Jim onto a stretcher. “Watch the leg.”

 

Chapel already had the captain wrapped in a thermal blanket. His pale flesh appeared grey edged with blue.

 

As quickly as the chaos had descended, it moved away. The doctor and the medical team began to carry Jim from the transport pad. When Spock began to follow, the others broke from their single-minded concern for the captain.

 

Though the medic who tended Jim remained focused on tricorder readings, the man stopped one of the other medics and pointed towards Spock. “I want the kid in bay three with the captain. Get M'Benga to check him out.”

 

When the skinny medic approached Spock with a thermal blanket, he took a step back and conveyed his desire to drape the blanket over himself.

 

“Can you walk?” the man asked him.

 

Spock inclined a single eyebrow at this. He was clearly capable of walking given that he had already done so. “Yes,” he said curtly. The ship's climate and the heat of the blanket began to thaw his stiff limbs, but a coldness settled in the pit of his stomach as the vulgar mouthed medic took Jim away.

 

Spock followed at a reasonable distance, intent on dissuading unnecessary contact. His mind was not properly guarded. Though he had managed to quiet the emotions that infused the air, a single careless touch could undo him. Unlike Jim, the Humans aboard the Starfleet vessel did not have the forethought to “turn down the volume.”

 

Efforts focused on strengthening his mind against outside influence, Spock remained unaware of his surroundings until his escort led him into the large medical bay. From the center facility, there were numerous offshoots. Passing the entrances to bays one and two, he searched for bay three. Before it came into sight, he heard a great deal of commotion.

 

The scruffy medic, whose professionalism left much to be desired, shouted, “Dammit Jim!”

 

“There was a kid,” Jim said in earnest. “Where's the kid?”

 

Spock masked his surprise at the sound of Jim's voice, raspy but strong. There was life in that voice. He quickened his pace to reach the bay's opening. Once inside, he observed the blonde woman and scruffy man on either side of Jim's exam bed. Jim was attempting to sit upright, legs kicking off the blanket.

 

“Chapel, sedate him,” McCoy ordered, forcefully pinning Jim to the bed.

 

Kirk renewed his struggles and gave a plaintive, “No.” As he fought against Bones' hold, he inclined his head and caught sight of Spock. He went still. His sudden lack of movement caught Bones and Chapel's attention. Bright blue eyes blazed with a fierce light, looking fevered and desperate. “Spock,” he said, the name catching in his throat. He let his head fall back to the bed.

 

Chapel approached with the hypo, but McCoy held up a hand to stop her. He turned to regard the young boy, who stood nearby huddled beneath a blanket. He glanced at the nurse that accompanied the Vulcan. “Station six,” he said, prompting the nurse to take the boy away.

 

A troubling implication hung in the air, but McCoy's priority was Jim. He didn't have the luxury of puzzling out the presence of a Vulcan child or why Jim had called the boy “Spock.” He'd arrived in the transporter room seconds before Jim's lame form materialized. He wasn't keen on letting the reckless captain out of his sight ever again.

 

Spock moved intently, each step heavier than the last. His firm refusal for assistance onto the bio-bed earned him a scowl from the nurse.

 

A dark skinned man with soft eyes approached and conferred with the nurse in hushed tones. Spock heard every word. The newcomer asked after the captain before settling his attention on Spock.

 

“Let's take a look at you,” M'Benga said.

 

Spock suppressed his discomfort at the proximity of the man who was clearly a doctor. His gaze cast in Jim's direction, his bed only a couple meters away, obscured by a privacy curtain. He strained his ears for Jim's voice, but there were only the occasional orders from the doctor who'd been in the transporter room.

 

“I'm Dr. M'Benga,” the doctor in front of Spock introduced.

 

Spock nodded in response.

 

“Can you tell me your name?”

 

All trace of expression vanished from Spock's face. The doctor's patronizing tone might be suitable for addressing a Human child, but not for a Vulcan. With a stiff posture and unblinking gaze, he said, “I am Spock.”

 

M'Benga faltered, but resumed his scans. “Spock?” His doubt was evident.

 

As M'Benga posed a series of questions, Spock sought to focus on the throbbing in his hands. Improved circulation brought stinging warmth. Focused on the discomfort, he suppressed his frustration at the Human doctor's inability to consolidate questions.

 

After Dr. M'Benga asked for the third if Spock believed himself to be Commander Spock, his patience began to fray. “It is not my belief that I am Commander Spock of the USS Enterprise. I am S'chn T'gai Spock, son of Sarek. Captain Kirk has apprised me of the anomalous circumstances wherein I have somehow regressed both physically and mentally. I am not aware of this regression, as I have no memory of being older than my current age.”

 

“What's the last thing you remember?” M'Benga asked, studying the tricorder scans.

 

“I assume you are referring to my final memory prior to waking up in the company of Captain Kirk.”

 

With a scratch to his brow, M'Benga said, “Yes.”

 

Spock had considered this many times. “I am unable to determine an exact moment. The seamless shift may be due to my lack of consciousness. I can only describe the experience as waking up where I do not recall falling asleep.”

 

M'Benga didn't appear appeased by this answer. “I'll run a DNA sample.”

 

“That would be an expedient means of confirming my identity,” Spock said with a faint quirk of his eyebrow. A DNA comparison had been the obvious solution from the beginning.

 

M'Benga adjusted the tricorder and took a skin sample with the light press of the scanner. He handed the scanner to the nurse. “Run this sample through the computer banks. Compare it to Commander Spock's genome code on file. Bring me the results as fast as you can.”

 

McCoy approached and inclined his head to M'Benga, asking for a word. “The captain won't shut up about seeing the kid,” he said. His clip tone disguised his heartfelt relief that Jim was able to complain like always. Jim's complaints were the surest sign that he was going to be okay, even if a shot of Cordrazine was the only thing that had kept the man's heart from stopping.

 

M'Benga showed McCoy the Vulcan child's scans. They conferred, speaking in low tones that seemed universal to physicians. Spock sat quietly, listening and waiting. As a hybrid between two species, he was often the subject of medical debate. Doctors' visits were a monthly occurrence for him.

 

McCoy glanced at the boy. His sharp gaze took stock of the station. Brow furrowed, he asked, “Did you start fluids?”

 

A look of surprise suggested that it hadn't even occurred to M'Benga to actually treat Spock. The glaringly obvious issue of identity had been a bit of a distraction. “I was about to,” said M'Benga.

 

Scowling now, McCoy bristled with rising anger. “Get your priorities in order.” He rooted through the station's drawers and patted the head of the bed. “Scoot up here and lay back,” he said to his new patient.

 

Spock maneuvered to the head of the bed and reluctantly reclined.

 

With his back to M'Benga as he worked, McCoy said, “A kid's a kid, whether it's on a starship or dirt-side. Don't stand around theorizing about what happened. You're a doctor.”

 

M'Benga didn't argue.

 

McCoy started to look Spock over, heedless of where he touched or how much. “Chapel,” he called out. Nurse Chapel had a way of appearing out of thin air. True to form, she stood at the foot of the bed seconds later. “Get a set of patient scrubs that'll fit him.”

 

Spock clenched his hands and sought inner calm. The doctor's heightened emotions washed over him. Anger, annoyance, impatience, worry, relief. When hazel eyes glanced towards Jim's station, there was a flash of what he often sensed in his mother. The man's methodical movements betrayed nothing of the wild emotions beneath the surface.

 

When it seemed that the doctor would exam every inch of him, Spock spoke up. “Doctor, I am capable of assessing my own health. There is no permanent damage from my previous hypothermic condition. I am dehydrated and fatigued, which are easily rectified. I have sustained no injuries that require immediate attention. Perhaps you should return your focus to Captain Kirk. I believe he-”

 

“Christ, you are Spock,” McCoy exclaimed, standing back and staring with a look of bewilderment.

 

“While I do not doubt my own identity, I believe your conclusions lack the necessary evidence.”

 

As if on cue, the nurse M'Benga had sent away returned. The nurse handed a datapad to M'Benga, who read the screen with wide eyes. M'Benga offered his tablet to McCoy. “DNA results,” he announced. “A match.”

 

McCoy studied the screen. After he reread the results three times, he waved the small pad at Spock and said, “Here's my evidence.”

 

“Indeed,” Spock agreed.

 

Though Spock did not welcome Dr. McCoy's continued ministrations, he was grateful that the man's focus was limited to his physical health. As soon as his scrapes were healed and his hands and feet determined to have no lasting damage, the doctor did not linger. Dr. McCoy ordered him to sleep, instead of subjecting him to further inquiry about his identity. He assumed a formal inquiry into the events on Thelos would occur after he had rested.

 

Settled in bed, his wet clothes exchanged for a set of dark navy scrubs, Spock felt the weight of sickbay's silence. For the first time since beaming aboard, he absorbed his surroundings. The sterile medical bay had a disquieting atmosphere. Noises were hushed. With the curtain drawn around his station, he was isolated. A false night descended when the lights dimmed, leaving only the faint glow of nightlights along the border of the bay's floor.

 

The metered blip of his own vital signs slowed the deeper he sank into meditation. Sleep was elusive despite his fatigue. Wary and tense, he struggled to acclimate to yet another drastic shift in his environment. Even with his dulled olfactory sense, he could smell a tinge of antiseptic. He would have preferred the damp earthen smells of caves and trees, or even the stale musk of Jim's sweat drenched neckline.

 

Shifting deeper beneath his crisp white blanket, Spock fought a sense of helplessness. Instinctively, he sought the comforting bond of his mother, only to encounter a cold void. Feeling her absence, his composure slipped. There was no danger aboard the ship, but he was afraid.

 

He considered the questions that the doctor and crew would eventually ask. His answers were largely based on information that Jim had provided. He could recount his experiences on Thelos, but he could not explain his presence on the planet or why he was out of his time. Jim had spoken about fixing him as though he were broken. When his mind drifted chaotically, he considered the he might very well be broken.

 

Sitting upright, he shifted off the bed. The hiss of material as he dragged the blanket from the bed sounded inappropriately loud in the near silent sickbay. He patted over to Jim's sectioned area. The bay appeared abandoned, no one else within sight. He slipped between the curtain's seam. There was a single chair positioned near the head of the bed. He had the impression that someone had recently occupied the seat.

 

Spock settled into the chair and studied the sleeping captain. Jim's lips were pale, but faintly pink. The color had a pleasing vitality. Blond hair stuck out in unkempt tufts against the pillow. The man's relaxed expression made him appear younger. There was something delicate and fragile in Jim's sleeping expression that Spock did not understand. The cuts and scrapes were faint, almost healed. Dirt and grime had been cleaned away. Spock had been grateful for his own decontamination shower earlier.

 

He studied the vital readings on the monitor above the bed, once more regretting that he had not cultivated a better understanding of the Human body. The steady rise and fall of Jim's chest gave Spock a reassurance that he hadn't realized he'd been looking for.

 

He fell into meditation, setting aside thoughts of his mother and home. Despite being in an unfamiliar environment, Jim was there. Jim had been at his side from the start, faltering and desperate and entirely Human, but adept at keeping him safe. With a quiet sigh, Spock held to that thought.

 

Finding his anchor, he achieved the calm he needed to complete his meditations.

 

ooo

 

Spock became aware of a harsh beeping noise. The beeps were rapid and sharp, calling alarm to anyone within range. Eyes snapping open, he straightened from his slouched position.

 

On the bed, blankets askew, Jim twitched and gave a violent jerk. Spock was on his feet, intent on retrieving a doctor.

 

“The kid,” Kirk mumbled, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. Dazed eyes glanced around until they found Spock. Though the monitor continued to flash red, the beeps slowed.

 

“Should I retrieve a doctor?” Spock asked, poised to leave.

 

Kirk hummed something, struggling to speak. “No,” he finally managed. “Stay… I just forgot… thought you were left behind.”

 

Spock studied the monitor. When it stopped flashing red, he stepped back from the curtain's opening. “I came aboard with you,” he said.

 

Kirk hummed again, a note that suggested agreement. Taking a sharp breath, he urged his mind to wake up. Dulled senses told him that Bones had sedated him. He waved an unsteady hand towards the chair.

 

Spock complied after a hesitant moment. He sat on the edge of the chair, ready to act if the need arose.

 

“How're you?” Kirk asked, making an effort to shift higher against his pillow. When Spock didn't answer right away, he added, “Ten fingers and ten toes?”

 

“My appendages are in working order,” Spock replied.

 

“The Brotherhood…” Kirk began but trailed off. After a moment, he rephrased his question, “How'd we get here?”

 

“Communications were reestablished with the Enterprise. I spoke with a crewman on board and requested transport.”

 

Fighting a massive headache, Kirk closed his eyes for a moment. He smiled at Spock's dutiful response, but it turned to a grimace when he attempted to sit up and his head protested most vehemently.

 

Spock was on his feet again. “I will call for Dr. McCoy.”

 

“No,” Kirk hissed. Settling back down, he conceded to adjust the bed itself. He fumbled for the controls and elevated the head of the bed. “Sit. I'm fine.”

 

“The definition of `fine'-”

 

Kirk's broken chuckle interrupted Spock.

 

“The source of your amusement eludes me. Do you find humor in your injured state?” The man smiled and laughed, which was perhaps an indication of disorientation or cranial injury.

 

“No,” Kirk assured. “I'm relieved. You look better.” The memory of Spock's wilted form atop a rock was hazy, but he recalled discolored lips and a sunken expression of fear.

 

Spock moved back towards the chair, but didn't sit. He lingered near the bedside. A soft glow graced Jim's features in the dim station.

 

Blue eyes glinted with laughter as Kirk spoke. “The definition of `fine' is subjective and has variable definitions. Given its multitude of interpretations and connotations, the term is an unsuitable description for one's health.” He watched dark brown eyes narrow with what he read as consternation and annoyance. He laughed, the sound stronger than before.

 

“You are amused again,” Spock said and glanced away.

 

“Laughter heals, kid. Stick around and I'll be at a hundred percent in no time.”

 

Spock didn't respond, but he took his seat once again. He wondered if Jim had spoken facetiously or if there was merit to the claim that amusement had positive effects on the Human condition.

 

A small shiver shook Spock's frame. Having endured Thelos' climate for three days, shivering was practically a somatic response. His body was hypersensitive to subtle changes in temperature, a defense mechanism that urged him to maintain steady equilibrium. As he drew his discarded blanket around himself again, he searched for signs of continued chill in Jim's body. The man did not shiver, but he suspected that the doctor had administered a muscle relaxant to allow for unimpeded rest.

 

The sluggish haze of Kirk's doped system persisted in drawing his eyes closed. “Are you gonna watch over me?” he asked in a teasing tone. It should have felt strange to tease Spock, but every moment he spent with the young version of his first officer solidified his perceptions of the boy as someone completely different.

 

Spock felt Jim's piercing gaze and wondered if the man continued to find him inadequate. “If you are agreeable, I will remain here while you sleep.”

 

Kirk's dulled mind took a moment to orient the comment. The boy was watching over him. He would have laughed, but fondness kept his expression sober. “You're welcome to stay. Just not if you should be lying down yourself.”

 

“I am sufficiently recovered,” Spock assured in a neutral tone.

 

Bartering and bargaining with Spock had become a ritualistic pastime for Kirk when he was on the bridge. He offered a genuine smile and said, “But not fully.” He made an effort to study the boy more closely and search for any indication of exhaustion or injury.

 

“Permitting a deterioration in my physical health, I will retire to my assigned station.”

 

“Listen,” Kirk said, wanting to cover a few points before he fell asleep again or before Bones found him awake and knocked him out. “There's no telling how long it'll take to fix you.” He missed the slight flinch Spock made at this. “I'm sure Bones already has the science guys doing their thing. You're probably freaked out.” He paused to recollect his thoughts, having forgotten his original point. “There's a woman. Lieutenant Uhura. Nyota Uhura. She's…” He made a vague quoting gesture with his fingers. “She's your lady friend. She'll want to be the one that looks out for you. She's on duty now, I'm guessing, otherwise she'd be here. If I'm stuck in sickbay for awhile, you'll want Uhura's help.”

 

Spock processed the numerous implications. Several questions came to mind. He voiced them in order of priority. “What help do you anticipate I shall require from Lieutenant Uhura?”

 

Kirk wanted to ask if Spock understood what he'd meant by “lady friend.” Perhaps he should have been more blunt, but pressing the point that Uhura was Spock's girlfriend was irrelevant. There were more important issues at hand, such as fixing the age regression.

 

Blinking heavy lids, Kirk addressed Spock's standing question. “We don't know what happened to you. There's no telling how long it'll take to fix. For all we know, it could wear off on its own.” He refused to acknowledge the possibility that the regression might be permanent. If there was a way to make a person younger, then there was also a way to make them older. It was a universal balance.

 

They would find the answer, Kirk was certain. Unfortunately, he suspected that the answer would involve the relic and the shaman's knowledge of how it worked. He had to stop himself from thinking too far ahead. His crew was capable of assessing the situation on Thelos without him. He didn't need to tell Scotty to contact Starfleet Command and apprise them of the cluster fuck that had occurred.

 

A small furrow came to Spock's brow. “To clarify, you anticipate that I may remain in my present form for an extended period of time.”

 

Tired, Kirk's response sounded more defeated than he intended. A solemn, “Yeah,” was all he offered. An edge of worry sharpened his mind. Locking eyes with the boy, his determination shone through. “We'll fix this. You don't have to worry about that.”

 

Spock could no longer ignore the discrediting implication that he was somehow broken. “Captain,” he said stiffly, “you persist in addressing my condition as if it were a debilitating affliction. For my age, I am perfectly capable.”

 

A long silence fell between them as Kirk read between the lines. He sank back against the bed, closed his eyes and sighed. Raising a weak hand, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I didn't think about it that way,” he admitted apologetically. “I'm sorry. From your point of view, nothing is wrong with you. I should've realized.”

 

Spock dropped his gaze to the floor. “I am aware that by the standards to which you hold me, I am inadequate.”

 

“No,” Kirk said, harsher than he meant. Hand falling away, he regarded Spock sternly. “When I said that we'll fix you, I meant we'd reverse the regression. I didn't mean that something was wrong with you.”

 

“You contradict yourself. If I have indeed regressed in age, then the point of error lies within me.”

 

The convoluted intricacies of the situation did nothing to alleviate Kirk's headache. His expression tightened as his head throbbed. He remained still for a moment to form a response and let the throb abate. “You're not as old as you should be. Obviously that means you can't do everything that your older self can.” Making a firm delineation between the older and younger versions helped his argument. “Right now, you're more than adequate. Most grown men couldn't go through what you did without falling apart.”

 

“I am Vulcan. You are basing your assessment on Human standards. Vulcans exert greater control over their emotions and their physical abilities far exceed those of Humans. It is therefore only logical to assume that any Vulcan would be capable of maintaining calm under duress.”

 

Groaning, Kirk began to wonder if he could make his point without misinterpretation. “What I'm trying to say is that the problem isn't with you or what you can do. The problem is the relic. The fact that you're thirteen when you should be twenty-eight doesn't mean you did something wrong. It means something went wrong and you had no control over it.”

 

“You are suggesting that the problem you seek to fix lies outside my immediate means of control and therefore cannot be attributed to any fault or failing of my own?”

 

Kirk made a sudden gesture with his hand, pointing at Spock. “Yes. Exactly,” he said.

 

Pleased to discover that Jim found no fault in him, Spock settled back in his seat. He nodded and accepted Jim's assertion.

 

Stifling a yawn, Kirk struggled to remember what else he'd wanted to tell Spock. He had mentioned Uhura, but there was more.

 

“You require further rest,” Spock observed.

 

Kirk's eyes watered as he fought another yawn. “Don't tell Bones.”

 

“Are you referring to Dr. McCoy?”

 

“Yeah,” Kirk mumbled, eyes falling shut for a long moment.

 

Spock waited for Jim's eyes to open again, but they remained closed. The man's breathing slowed. He cast a pointed look to the monitor and studied the vitals keenly. Once satisfied, he closed his own eyes and sought to clear his mind for further meditation.

 

ooo

 

Spock managed to finish another complete cycle. He resurfaced to awareness with a secure barrier between his mind and the world around him. On instinct, he studied the bio-bed's readings once again. There were no notable changes.

 

With a continued interest in the vital signs, he slipped from his seat. He knew there were heart rhythms, body temperature, and brain waves on display. He did not know how many beats per minute were standard for Human hearts or whether Humans could control their brainwaves. He did know that Humans required more sleep to sustain their health.

 

Clutching the blanket around his shoulders, he stood at the bedside. Jim slept, soft lips relaxed and cheeks flushed a healthy color. Jim was shorter than average by Vulcan standards, but likely tall for a Human. His lithe form was deceptively strong. The bright yellow coloring of his hair was curious. The strands were a near golden, threaded with darker copper hues. Spock wondered at its texture.

 

The vitals were steady, but the slow heart rate continued to perplex him. On Thelos, he had noted that the Jim's heart was contained the upper region of the chest cavity. Intrigued by this anatomical design, he reached out to confirm his previous findings. Hand slipping beneath Jim's blanket, he set it against a firm chest. He felt the faint contractions, the valves fluxed and chambers filled at a pace significantly slower than a Vulcan heart. Fascinating.

 

Kirk woke with a start. His hand snapped out and grabbed Spock's wrist.

 

Spock stiffened in surprise, but did not pull away.

 

Kirk glanced at the small hand on his chest and then to the boy. He released his hold and slowly relaxed.

 

Spock lowered his hand to his side. “If I have transgressed, I apologize.” The tips of his ears warmed as he considered the inappropriateness of his actions. His curiosity had clouded his judgment.

 

Kirk frowned and shifted his head against his pillow to better see Spock. His throat was dry. “You're fine,” he assured as he began to sit up. His mind was more lucid, but his body ached everywhere. He reached awkwardly for the water bottle on the nearby table. Spock grabbed it first. He took the offered container and nodded his thanks.

 

The thin straw ensured that thirsty patients would take their time drinking. When Kirk had downed most of the bottle, he took a deep breath and settled back. “What was it?” he asked. “My heart?”

 

Spock gave a small nod. “I noted a point zero seven second delay between the beat of your heart and the monitoring device's registration of that beat.”

 

Kirk smirked. “Ever the science whiz,” he said. “You're cold though. You should be in bed.” The boy's hand had been cool in his grip. On Thelos, they'd all been cold.

 

Spock shifted the blanket around his frame. “Average Vulcan temperature is thirty-two point seven eight centigrade. I am within acceptable range. According to this monitor, your temperature is currently thirty-seven point five degrees. I would therefore surmise that I am not cold, but rather that you are feverish.”

 

Kirk's smirk spread to a wide grin. “I am running a little warm, but not a fever.”

 

Spock absorbed this fact, eager to latch onto any information on Human physiology. From his mother's occasional touches, he had been aware of the warmth Humans exuded. Now he knew the exact variation between their races.

 

“Have you slept?” Kirk asked. He didn't want to order Spock back to bed, especially not when he detected the boy's reluctance to leave.

 

“I have meditated,” Spock replied.

 

Kirk glanced at the uncomfortable looking chair.

 

“Have you been here the whole time?”

 

“Since you were last awake.”

 

Kirk ran a hand over his face and sighed. He felt like he had slept for at least a couple hours. Ship's night was still underway. The hush over sickbay had a disquieting effect.

 

Spock perceived Jim's disapproval and stepped back. “I have overstayed my welcome. I will retire to my assigned area.”

 

Kirk suppressed a groan. “Get over here,” he muttered before the dejected Vulcan could leave.

 

Spock paused at the curtain's edge. Turning on foot, he regarded Jim neutrally. “You wish me to stay?”

 

Waving Spock over, Kirk shifted as much as he dared to one side of the narrow bed. “Yeah, you can stay. Hop up.” He drew the blankets aside.

 

Spock didn't budge. “Are you suggesting that I sit on the bed?”

 

“Lay on the bed, actually,” Kirk said.

 

“That is unnecessary. I am perfectly willing to utilize the chair.”

 

“My ass is sore just thinking about you sitting there, so come on.”

 

Kirk thought he understood Spock's reluctance to leave. Life and death situations messed with a person's head. They'd been attached at the hip for the past three days. Thrown into a terrifying situation, Spock had been forced to rely on him and trust him. Even though they were no longer in danger, there was no one else Spock could identify with. The kid was lost in a strange new world and Kirk was the only familiar face. God help him if the regression couldn't be reversed immediately and he had to explain to Spock why he couldn't call home.

 

“I must decline,” Spock said. “As I have previously stated, Vulcans do not casually engage with others at close proximity. The nature of our telepathy mandates a strict regard for physical boundaries.” A twinge of embarrassment resurfaced as he recalled how he had touched Jim minutes ago. Without the perceived danger of the Brotherhood or the demands of a cold climate, there was no excuse for initiating contact.

 

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Kirk said, “If I promise not to bite, does that change your mind?”

 

Spock quirked a questioning eyebrow.

 

Kirk motioned towards the down turned blanket. “It's getting cold like this.”

 

In several fluid steps, Spock returned to Jim's side and grasped at the blanket's hem.

 

While the boy resettled the blanket over him, tugging and tucking, Kirk clamped down on his laughter at the mothering display. He could admit that part of him wanted to reach out and pull Spock close. After everything that had happened, he wanted tangible confirmation that Spock was really okay. Both Lieutenants Carter and Folsen had died on Thelos. Ambassador Eldridge was still a hostage. The odds had been against them at every turn.

 

“Still cold, but that's fine. You sit in the chair while I freeze.” Kirk had used the same transparent argument in the cave when he'd hoped to sooth Spock's pride. The sudden alarm that flashed through dark Vulcan eyes suggested that Spock had taken his statement quite serious.

 

Spock recalled the sight of Jim's unmoving body, blue lips and white skin. The emotions he had felt at that time came over him again. Having greater control over his mind, he quickly suppressed his worry, but couldn't keep from darting a look to the monitor. Jim's temperature had dropped .25 degrees.

 

With a twisted rationale supporting his breach in conduct, Spock did not hesitate to use the chair and lever onto the bed. As he settled beneath Jim's blanket, familiar warmth enveloped him. His own blanket remained secure around him, ensuring an added barrier that would prevent accidental transference.

 

Though Spock's position was reminiscent of their past nights together, the circumstances had changed. The sterile bio-bed was not a dank cave or hollowed tree trunk. He was not in danger of hypothermia. This time, Spock huddled close for Jim's sake, not his own. He offered his warmth instead of taking it. Jim had already done too much for him, narrowly surviving as a result. The very least he could do in return was disregard unsound logic and scandalizing intimacy.

 

Kirk suspected that Spock hadn't appreciated finding him in what must have been a half-frozen state by the river. He didn't have the heart to boot the kid from his bedside, but he also didn't have the heart to watch the boy sit on a hard chair and keep vigil.

 

On his side, Kirk faced Spock. Meeting large brown eyes, he grinned wryly. “Sleep,” he commanded. Spock's eyes drifted, running over his face before returning to meet his gaze. Just when the thought the boy would give some sort of argument about Vulcans not needing to sleep, Spock closed his eyes obediently. A moment later, Kirk did the same.

 

Thinking of Sam and how he used to crawl into bed with his brother, Kirk drifted to sleep once again.

 

 

TBC…

 

Author's notes: (really long)

 

Not beta read. My beta sort of dropped off the face of the planet. Still waiting.

 

Does anyone know Spock's real surname? “S'chn T'gai” is the fanon creation, or so I'm told. I know there are a couple versions of his name that predate “S'chn T'gai”. Is there a definitive canon name? This is “Nyota” all over again 0_o

 

I'm going with ruddy orange color for deoxidized Vulcan blood. I'll edit the purple out of the last chapter eventually.

 

I want to elaborate on why Uhura wasn't immediately at kid-Spock's side. First, I hate the cliché where Uhura is conveniently dismissed with a single line, like when Spock tells Kirk “We concluded our romantic engagement prior to our commission aboard the Enterprise” or something similar. It's going to take some growing apart for Spock and Uhura to end their relationship, so expect them to have face time together (I don't mean I'll be writing about them kissing and sexing it up, but I'm not dismissing her in the span of two lines).

Second, I realize that Uhura's absence from Spock's side in sickbay might seem strange. It's her boyfriend and a normal person would drop what they're doing and rush to sickbay. But, she's not a normal person. This is something that really peeved me in the movie. I haven't read the novel yet, but I read an article about the differences between the film and novel. Correct me if I'm wrong, but in the novel Uhura never chased after Spock and initiated that infamous kiss scene. Instead, she remained at her post doing her duty. Personally, I was appalled that the film reduced someone as awesome as Uhura to the girl character. She has a couple brief moments where she gets to flaunt her intelligence (though one of those moments she was stripped down to her panties). Anyway, I prefer to imagine Uhura as a dedicated officer. Spock wouldn't have entered a relationship with her if she were the kind of woman to abandon her post in the middle of a shift.